Page 37 of The Lottery

His arms brace me against him, and in this position, with the length of our bodies pressed into each other, our lips inches apart, his scent filling me… oh god I just want to finish that kiss and see where it takes us.

Fortunately, Marek’s survival instincts aren’t as easily seduced into distraction as mine.

“Other issues?” he asks the computer, his eyes locked on me while he speaks.

“Negative,” Metis responds, before adding a little caveat. “Erratic movements threaten to further destabilize engine coils.”

His grip on me tightens, as though he’s preparing for another tremor. My arms are pinned against his chest; I’m at his--and the ship’s--mercy at this point.

It’s the best version of helpless I could ask for.

“Metis, how many crew on level one? How many near the lift on level two?”

“Two members on level one, fourteen persons within twenty meters of the level two lift,” Metis responds. We shake again, this time inertia taking us to the side instead of off the ground. Marek and I roll over a few times, landing with him now on top of me. He’s so much bigger than me that I spread my legs, letting him sink between them to take some of his weight off me. The slit on the side of my dress widens, revealing my entire thigh,

Our bodies are right where I want them. So much of this is the romp I’m longing for, minus the actual romping.

“Order all available crew to the first tier,” Marek shouts over his shoulder. “Command is to station themselves along the hull by engine five.”

“Won’t they get hurt?” I don’t need to butt in, but I can’t help thinking about people trying to walk during these ship-quakes. I can’t even lie down successfully, and I’ve got an Adonis trying to help me stay put.

“I hope not,” Marek responds softly. He means what he says, and clearly there’s a method to his madness.

“Crew in transit to specified location,” Metis says.

I close my eyes and take back every time I slammed artificial intelligence as the reason people stopped caring about and protecting the planet. I don’t think my objections were entirely wrong, but I’m all for this particular AI saving our asses right now.

“When they arrive,” Marek says to Metis, diving back into the plan I’ll likely never understand, “disable the coil on level one engine ten.”

“Repeating for confirmation: command is to disable primary reactor coil on level one, engine ten once crew is stationed.”

“Affirmative,” Marek says without pause.

Jesus. This must be a big ask if Metis is taking the time to read back the order.

Marek turns his attention to me, his lips barely parted. I can’t tell if he’s going to say something or kiss me. Frankly, I wish he’d do either, but we just stay locked in this strange embrace while the ship continues to shimmy below us. If this is how I go… I guess this is as good a way as any.

A few tense seconds later, Marek pushes himself slightly off the floor, taking some of his weight off of me. It makes it easier to breathe, but I can’t say I’m happier this way. I’ll gladly trade my oxygen for the pressure of his body.

I’m so distracted by his movement that I don’t realize the ship has stopped shaking. Have we exploded and I’m dead, or did Marek’s little plan work?

“Engine ten depowered, speed reduced to one-point-two megameters per hour,” Metis says calmly.

“Excellent,” Marek says, a smile in his eyes. I’m sure he’s smiling about what the AI said, but his look is all mine, with our faces and bodies still so close. “Alert Captain Millard to the problem and solution. Cargo reconfiguration caused an imbalance on level one, bringing engine five out of contact with its coil. Crew should stay in position until the reactor is realigned, then engines restarted in unison.”

“Message relayed,” Metis says. There’s a finality in her voice that makes me feel like she’s just left the room and it’s only me and Marek again. She’s never gone, of course, but a girl can dream of having some privacy.

Also, I can finally ask my question.

“What the hell just happened?”

Marek takes a breath, his eyes trailing over my face and landing on my lips. His stare warms my core, starting a fire in the base of my abdomen that burns pleasantly throughout my body. I can’t tell if he’s thinking about kissing me again or how to answer what’s probably a complex question. My bet, based on the look in his eyes, is both.

“The task you saw our crew undertaking last week, moving the cargo from the center to the outer section of the floor,” he says. “That was interrupted for tonight’s foolish cocktail party. I had a bad feeling about stopping the work, but was also… distracted.”

“Distracted by what?”

His eyes travel up from my lips, meeting my gaze. I can tell he’s hesitant to answer.

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